


Mysterious Ways

by madame_d



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: 100 Ways Challenge, M/M, Multi, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-05
Updated: 2004-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_d/pseuds/madame_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All good bands christen recording studios with sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysterious Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ [100 Ways Challenge](http://www.hazyphase.net/missedopportunities/100wayschallenge.html) ] prompt: _Sex in the Studio_. Second person POV.

**["...All you have to do is close your eyes and just reach out your hand..."]**

"...And I'm not going to bore you with the details, since you've recorded songs before. So it's going to be more of all of that, and there are more people involved, like producers and executive producers and engineers and such. And no, you're still not allowed to touch any of the controls."

You lean forward to see the forbidden sound-booth controls better, and accidentally push Keri, who hisses "JC!" at you and elbows you in the stomach. You make a sheepish face at her; you really didn't mean to push her. But you're almost giddy with excitement and you can't control the bubbles rising up from the inside; they make you dizzy and light-headed.

It's not just seeing your cast-mates during the hiatus. And it's not as if you've never been to the studio before. It's just that you've never recorded an entire CD before. Sure, you've pre-recorded songs in the studio before performing them on stage for the show, but this is a professional CD. You don't think this is your dream come true, specifically, but you know this is something you will definitely enjoy doing. And who knows, maybe it will become your life.

Tony touches your elbow and you look at him over your shoulder. His smile is as geekily-giddy as yours, and you know you have at least one ally, when you all go into the studio, with whom to be dazed and excited.

"Well, folks, this concludes our tour of the Disney sound studios. We will see you all tomorrow, bright and early at 7am. Now scoot." You all mumble thank-yous and shuffle out of the room. Tony is last, and you hang back to let him catch up.

"Well, I guess we're going to record the album with Mouse," he says with fake composure that you know he doesn't feel. You smile at him and go momentarily blind because your smile is so big that your eyes are squinched shut. Tony slings an arm over your shoulder, and the two of you try to discuss the upcoming recording with calmness and maturity befitting your age and status. Tony can carry it off quite convincingly, and you admire him for that because, suddenly, you feel much younger than him, despite the measly six months that separate you. But he's seventeen already, and he feels light-years older and wiser. While you... you're almost vibrating with excitement and anticipation. You could never carry off the 'cool and composed' look Tony's doing so well. Tony's hand grips your shoulder, and he shakes you lightly.

"Spazz. Your car is over there." You give him a distracted smile and walk across the parking lot to your car, already thinking about tomorrow's recording session.

The recording makes you as dizzy and dazed as the thought of it did. Take after take, and 'sing lower, sing higher, sing deeper, sing better,' but you don't take offense; you want this album to be the best ever. In the evening, you sprawl on the couch next to Dale, close your eyes, and blow out a sigh of satisfaction. Everyone but Tony is done, and the producers let you all go, but you stay behind not only to wait for Tony but because you honestly don't think you can get up off the couch. You are not as physically exhausted as you are after hours of dance rehearsals, but nerves, tension, and not knowing what to expect during recording sessions have all taken their toll.

You feel someone drop down next to you, and you know it has to be Tony. You open your eyes and are surprised to find the studio deserted, not a tech or engineer in sight.

"They've all left. They have the promise of a very mature and responsible Mouseketeer that I will set the alarm when we leave," he explains.

You nod, and you sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then, the weight on the couch shifts as Tony stands up and you grasp his hand as he helps you get up. He lets go and says easily, "So. Wanna know something?"

You make an inquisitive sound.

"Well... uh... all the cool popular bands baptize studios for good luck."

"Baptize?"

"Well, they sort of break in the new studio by having sex in it the night after the first day of recording an album."

You make a sound that could be shock, surprise or a cough. You mean for it to be none of the above; you're cool enough and old enough to talk about sex without breaking into giggles.

"Does that work?" You hope you sound mature, with a slight touch of skepticism.

"Well, you know how a couple breaks in every room of the house when they first move in? This is the same principle. I mean, it could be superstition, but everyone from the Stones to Aerosmith to Led Zeppelin to U2 and Bon Jovi does it."

"Really?"

"What, you don't believe me?"

"No, Tony, of course I do. It's a really... interesting concept, is all." After a little pause, you ask, "What, do they bring their girlfriends to the studio, or find groupies?" You ask hesitantly because you aren't quite comfortable talking about it.

Tony shrugs, shifting and looking around the room. "I don't think it matters. Just that you do it. And it has to be the first night. Otherwise, who knows what'll happen; the album flops, the band breaks up. All sorts of bad shit going down."

"So... are you suggesting we find a couple of girls to bring back and christen this album?"

"Not... necessarily." Tony is looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You know what he means; you're not stupid. You are also not blind, though often oblivious. You've seen him look before. You consider yourself pretty open-minded, so you don't really object. You find it flattering, in a way, that you are good-looking enough to attract a guy's attention.

"So," Tony looks you in the eye, "you wanna? It's cool if you don't."

"I... " Okay, attention and looks are flattering. But this? Is kind of really sudden. And maybe unexpected. And probably scary.

"JC, I promise: whatever happens, or doesn't, won't change anything. We'll still be buddies."

"Uh... okay." And really, could you sound _more_ unsure? Tony doesn't seem fazed, though. He puts his hand on your shoulder, sliding it up and around to cup the back of your neck, and then his lips are on yours, and it doesn't really feel strange. It's kissing; you've done that before, quite a bit, in fact. His mouth is firmer, his skin rougher than a girl's, his lips a gentle pressure on yours. He's not rushing you, just learning the shape of your immobile lips, and you finally gather up the courage to kiss him back.

He moves closer, crowding you, and when you move back, he follows until he's got you propped up against the wall, one hand on your neck, the other on the wall above your head, your arms still hanging limply by your sides. You lift one and hesitantly put it on Tony's hip, and he slides his hand down the wall to cover yours. He tugs your hand up and entwines your fingers, holding both against his chest. You finally run out of air, and tear yourself away, and Tony kisses across to your ear and down your neck, nibbling lightly on corded muscle. You've done that to girls, and they moaned appreciatively but none of them has ever done that to you, and when a moan rises to your lips, you feel cheated because it feels _good_.

You free your hand from Tony's, twine your fingers in his short hair to lift his head up, and kiss him again. One of his hands finds its way under your t-shirt at the small of your back and you gasp into Tony's mouth. The hand stills but when you don't push him away, Tony starts rubbing his thumb across your skin. His other hand slides under the clothes in the front, fingers dipping into the waistband of your jeans, knuckles stroking below your belly button. You gasp again, because you like this part, you've done this before, only with girls, but it doesn't feel any different. You surface for air, bite Tony's ear, then dive right back into the kiss.

It's not until Tony unbuttons your jeans that sanity comes back. You're torn between experimental curiosity and nerves. Your friend Joey's voice in your head tells you that you've got to try everything at least once, but then, there's your mom's saying you should never feel pressured to have sex. Tony's hand is in your pants, rubbing your cock through underwear, and you are hard, of course you are, you are a teenage boy, the smell of perfume can arouse you, but you can't do this. You just know you can't. Maybe it's a guy thing, maybe it's a Tony thing, and maybe it's something else. Whatever it is, you slowly pull away and clutch at Tony's wrist by your crotch.

"Stop. Please." He takes his hand away immediately, and you let it go.

"Tony. I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to cock-tease. I... can't. I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. I told you it would be fine, whatever you decide. It won't change a thing, I promise. It's cool."

You turn away to tuck in and zip up, then turn back to face Tony.

"I'm so, so sorry."

"JC. Nothing to be sorry for. You're not ready; you don't feel like it, whatever. It doesn't matter, all right? It's cool."

He gives you a manly hug, double-checks that both of you are presentable, and leads you out of the studio. He doesn't forget to set the alarm.

You are a little weird around Tony after that. Three weeks later you start dating Nikki and hanging out with younger cast-mates in an effort to avoid spending time with Tony. Justin, for all his tender years, is funny and sweet. He is Tyler's age, and you find yourself hanging out with him if only because you miss your brother so much. Five weeks of dating bliss with Nikki and you seemingly forget that anything ever happened. Then, you have a staff meeting and the announcement hits that the show has been cancelled. You get to finish season seven and after that, the end, no happily ever after. You look around the room, at the shocked, drawn faces, and hear Tony's voice echoing in your head, " _Otherwise, who knows what'll happen; the album flops, the band breaks up. All sorts of bad shit going down_." You think you shouldn't have stopped him.

***

 **["...I hope you found what you went looking for; I pray you maintained your face..."]**

When the Mouse ends, you head for LA. All the older kids are doing it, and you are 'older kids' so it seems like the thing to do. You get an apartment with Dale and Tony and spend the first few days bumming around and getting the feel for the place. You know that you want to record music and you don't know what to expect, but definitely not what you find. In LA, there are two types of wannabes – those who get places and those who don't. You don't want to be the latter, but to be the former, you need to party and mingle and whore yourself to dirty old men, who are almost never dirty and mostly aren't old either, but they all want a grope, a blowjob, or a fuck in exchange for a promise to hook you up and get you places. At first, you avoid it all, and think you can make it on your own, that your talent will be enough. It isn't. So, you do it the hard way.

You find their hands on you repulsive and you can't seem to wash the ghost of touches off your skin. You know that you need to keep doing this, though. Eventually, you give in and let one of them blow you. In between licking and sucking, he whispers how young, beautiful, and barely legal you are, and since your 18th birthday is in two days, you don't bother correcting him. You leave before he has a chance to give you his business card. You know you can't do this.

You pack your bags, buy a ticket back home, and spend a lot of time successfully failing to contemplate your failure. A day before you leave, Justin calls. He's working with Robyn, the vocal coach from Mouse, writing songs, and he wonders if you would like to come for a visit and write some songs. You head to Nashville.

As soon as you drive up to the house, Justin runs out to greet you. He is a lot taller than when you'd seen him last, but still shorter than you. He's bulked up, and you feel the muscles in his arms when he hugs you from behind and squeezes while you greet Lynn. Then he drags you a couple of feet backwards, slides around to face you and squeezes again. You ruffle his fuzzy curls and whisper, "I missed you, too" into his hair. You write with Robyn during the week, and Lynn makes the 8-hour round-trip to drop Justin off on the weekends so that he can join the fun.

Just when you get ready to head back to Orlando, because you've put off The Talk with parents long enough, Lynn calls. She asks if you would mind coming to Memphis to visit with Justin for a while. She doesn't say much but she sounds desperate, and you tell her that you'll see her soon. You pack your meager belongings into your car, and make the four-hour drive from Nashville to Memphis. Your excuse to Justin, since you can't tell him that you came because his mom called, is that since you are in the middle of a project, it would be easier to wrap it all up if you were in the same place, because you have to go home soon.

That night, you and Lynn have a 'talk' while Justin is away on an errand that, as you all know, is just a pretext to get him out of the house. Lynn tells you about Justin's problems at school, and asks if you can help straighten him out. You're going to try. She finally asks about LA. You don't tell her anything except that it "didn't work out." Lynn makes to get up, then sits back down, looking searchingly at your face.

"JC. While you are under my roof, I ask only one thing: do not bring boys home." She says it gently, looking you in the eye. There's something in her expression that you can't decode; worry and concern, maybe, and something else.

You hang your head and stare at your knees. You want to tell her that you won't because you're not like that, not at all, but all that comes out is a weak "Okay."

A week later, you take Justin to the zoo after school, and while Justin is off petting and feeding the horses, a beautiful boy pushes you back into the single unisex bathroom you're trying to leave. You feel momentarily scared out of your mind, but he is shorter than you, and thinner, scrawnier, and really pretty, so you think it might be safe and don't put up a fight. He blows you and makes you see stars. When you find your hand inching towards the distended front of his pants, wanting to reciprocate in some way, you think that okay, maybe you are 'that way.' He catches your hand, kisses your palm, and says, "That's okay. I just really wanted to do that. You're so beautiful." He strokes your cheek and you smile because that doesn't make you feel sick like those men in LA did, and you manage a quick, clumsy grope while he kisses you on the mouth with sticky lips.

There are more boys-in-bathrooms incidents after that, and you go out to clubs several times, where you get groped and blown, quite spectacularly. You even return the favour on a few occasions.

Then, Lynn declares Justin fixed, and you go home. You sort of hear about it when Justin and Lynn move back to Orlando, but you're too busy looking at college brochures and preparing for the SATs and filling out applications for it to be more than just a blip on the radar of your life.

Then, The Call comes.

***

 **["...I'm trying to figure out just what to do..."]**

When you go to Sweden to record the first song for your debut album, you know that you _must_ christen the studio, teasing be damned. You don't feel safe looking for a willing body in a club or a bar, and you don't want to be using someone just to christen the studio. You look at the candidates within your group because you know you'll be able to stay friends with them afterwards, and because something special like album-blessing probably requires someone special, despite what Tony said. You failed last time; this time you need to do it right. Justin is immediately out because of his age, and so is Lance, for the same reason. Rumour has it (that is, Joey thinks) that Chris leans the same way as you but you don't know him well enough to even feel comfortable asking if he _likes_ boys, let alone ... that.

Which leaves Joey, one of the first people you met when you moved to Orlando and with whom you've been friends since you were 13. Joey, who is liberal and open-minded, and who came to you, not his brother, worried that he was a freak because his pubic hair hadn't sprouted by the time he was 14. The question is, though: do you have the guts to ask Joey to have sex with you, and will he actually do it once he stops laughing when you tell him the reason for your request?

The record execs schedule a three-day recording session for " _I Want You Back_ ," but you finish the recording in one day. After the congratulatory round of applause and some beer, everyone leaves except for you and the guys. You can all leave if you want, but you're too wired and excited, so you sit around, finishing the beer ("Justin, put down the bottle!") and talking about nothing, just being together. Finally, Chris gets up, and you jump up as well.

"Chris, I need to talk to Joey about something. Would you guys mind going on ahead? We'll catch up."

Chris nods, slings his arms around Justin's and Lance's waists and drags them outside. Joey remains sitting on the couch, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"You want to talk to me? What's up?"

There is no easy way to say it; no tactful way to say it, either.

"Wanna have sex with me?"

Joey doesn't react except for blinking once, and you want to kiss him for it.

"Define sex."

That wasn't what you were expecting. "Uh... Blowjob, handjob, groping, humping. Whatever you want. I mean, I don't even know if you are into sex with guys, let alone if you've done it before, you never said, but if you want more... like... ass stuff, that's okay, too." You can't bear to look at Joey, so you talk to your toes, instead.

Joey takes you by the wrist and pulls, settling you next to him on the couch.

"Hey, JC? Want to tell me what it's about?"

"Can I tell you after?" You ask meekly, because you really need for this to happen; you can't fail again.

"Yeah," Joey whispers against your mouth, warm breath fanning across your lips. He kisses you softly, then harder, getting you both horizontal on the couch, pulling you tightly to his chest. Things heat up and get out of hand really fast, and then you're slowly calming down, both panting, your sticky hand still in Joey's pants, while your jeans are icky and wet. You feel shy and embarrassed, and you want to get up, clean up, and leave, to forget that this ever happened, but Joey has his arms around you, holding tight, breathing in your ear.

He kisses your temple and whispers, "So. Tell me."

You withdraw your hand, finally, and wipe it on the ugly fabric of the sofa. Joey sits up, pulling you with him, and when you're tucked snugly against his chest, you tell him the whole story, withholding only Tony's name, because Joey knows him too, and you don't know if you're allowed to talk about the incident. You hide your face in his neck, not wanting to see him when he laughs, but he just tightens his arms around you and says, "Well. Let's hope this brings us luck."

You hope that you haven't miscalculated, that things won't get too weird between you and Joey afterwards, because you would hate to lose your oldest and closest friend, but Joey acts as if what happened was the most natural thing in the world, as if his male friends always ask him to have sex with them. It's impossible to be weird around Joey when his attitude towards you doesn't change at all.

Then the song goes platinum in Germany when it's released as a single, and you're packing for Europe, holding on tight to the ride and trying not to get thrown.

***

 **["...You confessed your love, undying devotion; I confessed my need to be free..."]**

You get antsy when Lou tells you that you'll need to re-record four songs before your first album can be released in the US. Your heart skips a beat because you don't know if you need to re-christen the album. The first album was a success but only in Europe. In the US, you start from square one, and Tony never covered topics like remakes or re-recordings of songs. Only four of the songs are new; does that mean that the album is considered a new album or does the luck wished upon the debut album as a whole spread over this one as well? You decide to bless the album, just in case. But then, should you ask Joey again, or should you find someone at the club, or...

It's funny, you think, that the idea of finding someone to have sex with on demand makes you break into cold sweat, while you have no problems finding someone to go home with on any regular night. Not that you do it very often; you don't really have the time or strength left after 10-hour rehearsals to do much clubbing. Maybe it has to do with using people; you are definitely doing it for pleasure on 'any regular night,' while blessing an album is more of a... sacrifice to the music gods. You will get off, of course, you're young, it won't take much at all for that, but you'll also be nervous about the end result and having to worry about non-disclosure agreements and dealing with strangers is the last thing you want to be doing.

As always, you are the last one in the studio, because you dawdle and clean up and are unwilling to leave yet because the studio is safe and leaving it means making important decisions about tonight. You bend down to retie your sneaker and when you stand up again, there are arms sliding around your waist. You'd be scared shitless except you recognise the tacky pinky ring on one of the hands.

"What's up, Jus?"

He leans his head on your shoulder, already taller than you but still trying to fit.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

Say what? "What are you talking about?"

"I found your notebook last night. I thought it was your song notebook but it was your dia-- your journal. I'm sorry I pried, but I only read the last few pages." He is mumbling into your neck, voice muffled with guilt. "About studio blessings, and your indecision about this album. Why didn't you come to me?" His arms tighten, convulsively, almost painfully, around your waist. You grab a wrist and pull because fuck, you're not having this conversation staring at the wall.

Once Justin is standing in front of you, showing great interest in your sneakers, you put a hand on his shoulder and wait for him to look up. He finally does.

"Justin. I like you. I love you lots, too. But you're my bro, man. All of which are, like, moot points, you know, because you're under 18, and that would make me a perverted pedophile." You run your hand over his fuzzy curls and draw him into your arms, hugging him. He is muscular but very thin, and you wish Joey would finally tie him down and feed him; God knows the kid needs it.

He buries his face in your neck and you feel something wet slide down your skin. It's totally not cool for you to point out that he's crying, so you fumble your way backwards to a large recliner in the corner and sit down, pulling Justin with you. He's still crying silently, body trembling slightly with suppressed sobs and an effort to stay quiet, and you rub his back, pet his hair, and call him baby, and tell him that everything will be fine. You suddenly remember Dale teasing you, towards the end of Mouse, about Justin having a crush on you, and he might've five years ago but surely not still? And then you remember Lynn asking you not to bring boys home while staying with her and Justin, and you finally understand what you saw in her eyes that day.

Justin's clinging to you as if you're about to leave for war, so you hug him tight and lie back, shifting until he is curled into your side, squished between you and the arm of the chair. He calms down and you can tell he's falling asleep by his deepened breathing. You wonder vaguely if anything bad is going to happen because you haven't 'sanctified' the album but push those thoughts aside because hey man, this is your bro having a nervous breakdown in your arms and he's more important than some silly (okay, not that silly) album. You're both going to be cranky and uncomfortable come morning because of sleeping arrangements but fuck it; this is one of those days.

In the morning, you wake up because the recliner is shaking. You blink away sleep and realise that it's Justin and not the recliner. Justin, who is hard against your thigh and rubbing himself against you and before you can open your mouth to say anything, there's a surge and spreading wetness. Your mouth drops open and you say aloud, "Fuck, I can't believe it," and Justin's eyes fly open. He's been asleep.

He blinks at you sleepily, then his eyes focus sharply and he turns a fetching shade of maroon. He hides his face in your shoulder again. You don't say anything because you're afraid that you'll start laughing, and that would make him cry again.

Instead, you duck your head and kiss his flushed cheek, hot and dry. "Hey. It looks like you got your wish." For a second, Justin looks like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole, but then he looks at your face and gives you a tiny smile that keeps spreading until both of you are giggling hysterically, unable and unwilling to stop.

You say with a teasing smile, "We need to find you a girl, baby." His eyes narrow but he doesn't say anything. A few months later, management sets up a play date for Justin and Britney, for future publicity purposes. But the kids rekindle their Mouse romance, and it's smooth sailing for then on. When Justin gives you a thumbs-up at the club upon seeing your hot 'date' for the night, you know that all is good.

***

 **["...And I know what we're gonna do; anticipating... Music is playing..."]**

Over two years together as a group and you all know each other better than you'd sometimes like. You know things about each other that you don't think you should and things that are great teasing and blackmail material. You finally get confirmation that Chris does prefer boys to girls, though he refuses to apply labels to himself. In a game of Truth-or-Dare, Joey admits that you weren't the first boy with whom he experimented, but he isn't sure yet if that's going to be a regular thing. You wish you could erase some of the information Justin reveals on occasion, but people seem to be too slow in clapping their hands over the kid's mouth, so you're stuck with the knowledge.

You promote your first American album until all of you are blue in the face and it pays off. Then, Lou and the record company shoo you back into the studio because, like a good little boyband, you need to record a Christmas album. In fact, you'll be recording a whole bunch of Christmas songs, and most of them will be for the album released in the States, and some will be on the CD for Europe.

You find yourself nursing a slight crush on Chris. You also come to realize that your sexual experience is still lacking in one department because at first, you weren't sure about boys, and then you were sure but didn't feel ready and now, you are ready but already famous and don't want to do it with a stranger whom you don't trust. You know Chris will help you out if you ask. But how does one approach Chris and ask him to bust one's cherry?

In the end, you chicken out, trap Chris in the corner after you record the first one of the Christmas songs, and kiss him. And Chris pushes you away and demands to know what's wrong with you because, he says, you can't just go around kissing him whenever you feel like it. You give him puppy eyes and hope against hope that he will fall for it and won't ask anymore.

Except that Chris knows about the 'blessings,' because Justin, apparently, doesn't know the meaning of the word 'secret.' In all fairness, you never told him not to share with the rest of the guys. And, really, it's not Justin's fault that to him, 'secret' means 'unknown to people who aren't Nsync.' You suspect that his mom is also on that 'in-the-know' list, but you really hope there are at least some things that Justin doesn't share with Lynn. So Chris, being a smart guy, quickly figures it out, and gives you a slow, heart-melting smile.

"I'm the Christmas-album guy, aren't I?"

"Chris... it's more than that; you're special to me..."

"Yeah-yeah, you're special too, Chasez. We gonna get our freak on?"

He's brash and pushy, and you are feeling delicate and fragile; you're not sure you can deal with it, with _him_. But Chris can be pretty sensitive too, so when he sees you shirking away, he cups your face in his small hands and asks, "Hey, pretty baby. What's wrong?"

"I haven't ever," you say, blushing with mortification. "You know. The ... stuff. I was wondering if maybe... we could?"

Chris stares at you for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Not here. Did you see that couch? It's absolutely disgusting. Does it matter for the album what kind of sex you have in the studio? I guess not, since you haven't ever... done that."

You shrug, feeling overwhelmed by relief over Chris' consent. Chris licks his lips and leans up to kiss you, enthusiastically but not aggressively. Before you know it, his tongue is in your mouth and his hand is in your pants, stroking you gently to full hardness, then jerking you off hard and fast, and you choke on a moan when you come.

Chris bites your collarbone and lewdly licks up the side of your neck to your ear. "I'm taking you home," he whispers, hot breath across the shell of your ear making you shudder.

It's not as bad a first time as you think it might've been, and it hurts more than you expect it to, but when it starts feeling good, it feels absolutely amazing and blows your mind, and you can't believe you've let yourself miss out on so many years of this. You kiss Chris until you feel as if your lips will explode from over-stimulation, and bite the pointy tip of his ear, which has Chris laughing and swatting you away, saying, "I'm not a dog; bite a little lower, okay?" and generously proffering his neck. Chris is bigger than you thought, and very careful and gentle, and when you come, you maybe tell him that you've got a crush on him. He laughs, kisses you, calls you 'pretty boy,' and tells you to go to sleep, which you do.

Chris lets you sleep for a bit, then wakes you up to teach you about rimming, and you think with a hysterical little giggle that you're like a kid with a new toy, and feel really grateful that you aren't required to do any dancing for the next few weeks.

Both albums do well enough, though not as well as Lou wanted. The sex was so good, though, that had you done it in the studio, you imagine the numbers would've gotten into the Guinness Book of Records.

***

 **["...Baby, you're not the only one..."]**

While Justin blossoms from gawky teenager into a beautiful teenager, stretching and filling out, his face finally catching up with his body, Lance remains as awkward as the kid you met way back when. His hair gets better, then worse, then better again, but despite his deep voice, he still looks tender, innocent, and almost effeminate with baby fat in his cheeks and the soft lines of his body. Nobody teases him much about it because you all know that he's trying to work through his self-confidence issues and you don't want to mess with that.

Lance kisses you after one of the rehearsals, both of you sweaty and aching in places you didn't even know you had. You've been working on a dance move that he's found particularly hard to execute, so he's been doing it over and over and over again, with you supervising and working out at the same time. And then, suddenly, he's got it, and both of you are giddy with his success, and he kisses you and you kiss him back. He pulls back, blushing, looking at you shyly from under his lashes, his beautiful eyes hidden. You don't know what to say; you don't want it to be weird. So you smile at him, and offer to give him a ride home. He invites you inside, offers you something to drink and, when you decline, walks you over to his bedroom where both of you drop onto his king-sized bed like a ton of bricks and fall into exhausted sleep before your heads hit the pillows.

In the morning, Lance leaves long before you do because of his on-going extra dance sessions. A note on the kitchen table tells you to lock up when you leave. You expect drama, uncomfortable silences, and weird looks, but instead, as soon as you walk into the dance studio, Lance comes up to you, and gives you a smile and a kiss in greeting.

"Uh..." you say, because it's the smartest you can come up with at the moment.

"This is okay, right?" Lance is smiling but you can tell that he's a bundle of nerves underneath the blasé exterior.

"Yeah," you say. "Have dinner with me tonight?"

Lance is sweetness and light when he wants to be, but he kisses as if his life depends on it, and in bed, he is more of a demanding diva than you hope Justin will ever be. The first time you and Lance have sex, you want to go slow, because you know - you weaseled it out through blackmail - that it's his first time ever, at all, but Lance won't let you, twisting and writhing underneath you, demanding and impatient. He makes you spill lube on the sheets, and his moans distract you to insanity. You go through four condoms before you manage to open a package without tearing one. Then, you concentrate on rolling it on without coming, which is tough in itself because Lance grabs on to your cock and won't let go. In the end, though, it's all worth it.

In the morning, you get to be the butt of numerous jokes from Chris, Joey, and Justin regarding the hickeys all over your neck, and finger-shaped bruises on Lance's wrists. In the upcoming weeks and months, you watch Lance bloom and transform from an awkward teenager into a gorgeous young man, and you can't help but beam proudly at having had a part in that.

You all cling to each other during the lawsuit, you and Lance tighter than others, but then it's over and you finally get to record. Lance, of course, knows about the blessings, courtesy of Justin, and as soon as recording for the day is done, the guys are gone from the studio, winking at you and Lance over their shoulders. And as soon as they're gone, Lance is pushing you against the wall, lips already clinging to yours as his hands fumble to remove your clothing. And you haven't ever done it against the wall before, not the 'real' sex anyway but Lance is big enough that it might work, it _will_ work, and then Lance is jerking your pants down and turning you around to face the wall and doing something behind your back.

And then, there are cold, sleek fingers on your ass, and inside, and really, foreplay becomes a formality when he slowly pushes inside. _Ow_ , but good ow too, and you're coming against the wall much sooner than you would've hoped, though it's okay because Lance doesn't last much longer, either. As soon as he withdraws, you pounce on him, kissing his lips, his face, his neck, and have you told him yet that you love him? You murmur it against the hollow of his throat, then against his lips, and he's laughing and saying it back, and you know, you just know, that this album will be something special. And also, you must remember that pushy Lance is really sexy, and something you really want much more of.

A month or so before the album release you and the guys are invited to Clive Davis' annual pre-Grammy Awards party and you jump at the chance. When you walk in and see George Lucas talking to Barry Manilow, you feel as star-struck as your fans must be feeling when they meet you. Lance spies Sting chatting to David Geffen, and pokes you in the side, urging you to go up to him and strike a conversation. You can't; you won't be able to say anything sensible, you'll just start gushing.

Everywhere you look, people who can't possibly know each other are engaged in conversations: Rob Thomas is chatting to Britney, Kid Rock stopped to speak to Whitney Houston before making a beeline for Fred Durst, which is something that does _not_ make your head ache. By the end of the evening, you find yourself back to back with Billy Joel, talking to Rob Thomas and Fred Durst. Actually, you make humming sounds while Rob and Fred discuss a new guitar that just made its appearance in the market, and you see your opportunity when Rob mentions a problem they had in recording sessions with guitars of same brand.

"Speaking of recording sessions, someone told me that rock stars have this ritual during recording, to make the album more successful?"

Rob and Fred exchange glances and burst into laughter.

"Oh JC, tell me you didn't fall for that. That's the oldest line in the book," Rob manages between fits of laughter.

Fred claps a friendly hand on your shoulder, "Hate to break it to you, Chasez, but that ain't nothing but a myth." You feel oddly disappointed.

SoundScan results come back 24 hours after the album release, and all you can do is look around the room and gulp. Because, whoa. You all look at each other, stunned, until Joey starts chuckling, and Chris picks it up, and before long, all of you are laughing with happiness, relief, and incredulity, because hey man, your fans rock. However weird, insane, and strange they are, they helped you break the record. You turn to face Lance, who is sitting next to you at the table, and kiss him right there, in full view of the guys, Johnny, Melinda, the company execs, some people from Legal, and several assistants. They've all signed non-disclosure agreements, anyway.

"We did it," you whisper against his lips, then kiss him again, for good luck, and studiously ignore stupid Justin who is making 'awww' noises. You can't help but think that Rob and Fred were completely wrong. Because if blessing an album is a myth, how did you manage to break the record? Clearly, they never tried it themselves, if their album sales are anything to go by. And, myth or not, the method clearly works; you are not messing with that.

***

 **["...See I was thinking then it clicked one day..."]**

It is hard to believe that less than a year after you sell 2.4 million albums in a week, you're back in the studio, writing and recording your second Pearlman-free album. You're all relaxed and happy, ecstatic to be back in the studio after the physically-grueling tour. Everyone is letting his hair down, though you are doing it literally and growing it out. Justin seems to be relieved that everyone is petting you and not him nowadays. He probably thinks he is too grown up to be petted. He's not.

Your relationship with Lance reached a natural ending a couple of months ago. Yet again, you expected drama and tension and got neither.

"Maybe..." Lance said. And you nodded. Then, you had really great good-bye sex, and that was that. You expect something bad to happen, for the other shoe to drop; it is too amicable otherwise, but deep down, you know that it won't. The case was closed as soon as Lance walked out the door. You wonder sometimes about the lack of numbing pain or heartache, but think that maybe this is what happens when you become lovers with your best friend for a couple of years, and then go back to being friends. You've always loved him; you love all of them a lot, so that didn't change much. And hey, you still get the hugs, the kisses, and the teases.

The first day of recording is very short. You lay down some lead tracks, screw around with the controls some, and you're done. Nobody is willing to put in a long day when the break has been so cruelly short. You are sprawled half on Joey and half on the couch, your head on Joey's chest. You feel lazy and languid, listening to Joey's heartbeat thumping in your ear. His fingers feel really good in your hair, combing through the strands, short nails lightly scratching your scalp. You rub against him to let him know it feels good, and make contented noises that have Joey chuckling. If you were a cat, you'd be purring.

Joey's fingers slide down to your neck, kneading the muscle and you feel yourself melting into mush. This is so good; you're never getting up in a million years.

"Hey? Remember our very first recording? Man, that feels ages ago. Time flew by so fast, and so much has changed. It's unbelievable, isn't it? Sometimes, I want to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming."

You meow in response. You don't mean to, but really, how are you supposed to be coherent when he's giving you neck rubs?

"Remember when you thought you had to have sex for an album to be a hit?"

That perks you right up. "Dude. I still have to do it. You can't, like, be complacent just because we sold two million albums, okay, almost two and a half million albums, in a week. I mean, that's cause and effect right there, you know?"

Joey's laughter rumbles in your ear and you lift your head the better to look him in the eye.

"No, Joey, for real. It's a system that works and you don't fuck with that. I mean, why fix it if it ain't broke?"

Joey's smiling, his hand on your nape drawing you closer to his face. "That last sentence makes no sense in relation to the rest of your argument, C," he says before kissing you.

Last time was five years ago, and you remember Joey's cold fingertips on your flushed skin, the way he held your face between his palms so gently, as if he was afraid that you'd break. Even at his most passionate, he'd been careful, so very careful of your supposed fragility. He knows better now, knows that beneath the fluffy and fragile-looking exterior, your core is sturdy and solid. He kneads your shoulders as you kiss, and he bends you backwards, almost in half, while trying to reposition you on the sofa.

When his large hands cup your ass and squeeze, you arch upwards into him. His mouth finally leaves yours and he kisses down your neck before biting, hard, into the muscle at the junction of your neck and shoulder. You have to think of your mother so as not to come on the spot. Clothes are sacrificed in a mad rush to get naked nownownow, though you manage to grab your pants from Joey before he throws them on the floor, and rescue a condom and a packet of lube from their pocket.

"Such a fucking boy scout," Joey growls somewhere between your stomach and your dick.

You try to explain, but your voice dissolves in moans and meaningless rambling and you give up on coherence and thinking for a while.

Joey roughly flips you over, fingers biting into your hips. You're going to be bruised from head to toe tomorrow, and the guys will all be making jokes and lewd comments, but you don't care. Suddenly, Joey stops.

"Uh, C?"

You arch your hips upwards, silently demanding that he get with the program already. He gently strokes your ass and says coyly, "You've really done this for every album we recorded? With Justin, too?"

"Joey! We're not going to rehash my past relationships! Get on with it. Now!"

He does. Afterwards, you take him home and keep him through the recording and the tours.

You and Joey start drifting apart, as a couple, somewhere toward the middle of the Celebrity tour and, suddenly, you find yourself with all this free time not spent having sex with him. You start hanging out with Tony more, happy that he agreed to join you guys and open for the group, because you missed him. Late one night, you go out into the hallway to get ice, and see a girl leaving Tony's room, sandals in one hand, a tiny handbag clutched in another. You remember your own unfinished business with him and make a mental note to get to it when you get the chance.

***

 **["...You're more than just a pretty face..."]**

You've been hanging out with Tara quite a bit. You keep saying that yes, you've been joined at the hip but you're just friends but that's not quite true. You sleep with her the night after the first day of recording _Blowin' Me Up_. She's fun in bed, and your back remembers her enthusiasm long after the jokes about scratches wear off. She laughs and teases, and it's definitely on your Top ... okay, Top 20 list. And yet, you like her better when you are snuggled up on the couch, watching Zeffirelli's _Romeo and Juliet_ , her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair in a messy pile on top of her head. She is a sweet weight against your side as you stroke her arm, and both of you bitch about the state of her nails and praise Romeo's prettiness. You like this better. So, you stay joined at the hip and you never sleep with her again.

Next, you fly to Houston to see Lance, because he is feeling lonely what with all those months of training in Star City, and you know he craves company and a familiar face. When you get to Texas, you find that not only does Lance crave company, he is also really sex-starved, so you spend your time with him very productively, stocking him up to last him a while. For old times' sake.

In the morning, you hear some very interesting Russian swear words because apparently, when being rimmed Lance swears in Russian now. Afterwards, he makes you promise to never ever say those aloud because "they're really really bad, JC. It's like... gosh, I don't even know if there's an English-language equivalent, really. So, just don't, okay?" As if you can remember some foreign words said once in your presence, while you are ... otherwise occupied. You promise anyway. In exchange for a blowjob.

A few days later you're in LA walking down the street to your car when a young couple passes you, the girl speaking very fast in a language you can't understand and, suddenly, there are a few words that you do recognize. You stop and stare aghast at her retreating back because she seems too young to know words that are that bad, at least according to Lance. And hey, you remember the swear words, after all.

***

 **["...I feel my heart seeking the sparks..."]**

Brian calls later that year, and as soon as you read between the lines of his rather incoherent monologue (which is really fast because your brains work the same way), you say yes. You go to his studio and listen to some kick-ass tracks he's done so far, then go into the booth and immediately fall in love with the haunting, gorgeous vocals you record. You are a perfectionist so you expect to do at least five takes of the vocals. Since Brian is a super-perfectionist, he tells you right away that he needs at least ten, and then some harmonies and alternative versions for remixes.

It doesn't take very long though, and soon you are leaning against the wall, studiously ignoring your hard-on and watching him work on his computer, already mixing the melodies. His love for music is incredibly sexy, not to mention that he's a good-looking guy and you've been sort of crushing on him ever since you met him when he was producing _Pop_. Finally, you give in because you know that the worst that can happen is a rejection. You quietly walk up to him, sliding between the chair and the desk. He blinks at the unexpected obstruction of his computer screens, then looks up at you.

"Hey. What...? Uh... I mean, you... Uh... JC?"

"Keep working," you say with a leer. You kneel on the floor between his legs, folding yourself under the desk, thankful for its spaciousness, and reach for his fly. He squeaks when he feels your hands on him, but doesn't stop you, just sighs.

You feel you surpass yourself. Not that you don't have vast experience, you do, but this time, you put in that extra bit of effort. Judging by the noises coming from above - Brian's moans interspersed with cacophonous sounds issuing from the computer - your extra bit of effort doesn't go unappreciated. You get up carefully, and bend backwards to crack your back. Then you catch Brian's eye and lewdly lick your lips. When he gulps, his Adam's apple sliding up and down, you tug him out of the chair, take him home, and don't let him go until the next morning. Except that instead of leaving, Brian drags you back into the studio, asking that you do backup vocals for another song that he's recording. You are only too happy to comply.

***

 **["...Think about it, it just makes sense..."]**

When you finally decide to record your own album, you eschew conventional studios and hole yourself up in the one in your house. Every time someone asks 'why,' you give a different reason, but the long and short of it is that your own house makes you feel secure and comfortable. It's been almost ten years since you tried this on your own, and you need your fuzzy blanket (that you won't ever admit to owning), your soft Scooby slippers (possession of which is also top-secret), and the ability to leave whenever things get too stressful. You can just go upstairs and have herbal tea and call Chris, who will talk you off the proverbial ledge and make you feel comfortable in your skin again. You think that maybe Chris is doing better with you than your shrink, **and** you don't have to pay _him_ over 200 dollars an hour.

You spend the first week getting used to the feel of the place and its vibe, then drag all your notebooks down there and try out the instruments and some of the programming, recording demos. When you feel you are ready, you call Alex and Brad and get to work. The first night, or early morning (depending on how one views such things), long after Alex and Brad have left, you are still downstairs playing around with vocals when there is a knock on the door of the studio. You jump, then feel stupid because you'd forgotten that Tony is staying with you for a few days, and forgetting is beyond silly since he's your 'something special' for the solo album. Even if he doesn't know it yet. You stop playback and push the button to release open the door.

"What's up, fucker?"

Tony walks in and settles himself in the armchair in the corner, sprawling and stretching his legs out. He yawns and points out the time – 2am.

"As in: your bedtime, Chasez."

"I'm not sleepy. I don't think I could sleep if I wanted to, actually. It's just... this and... you know, this is really important to me... and just... I want... and you know..." You make an expansive gesture with your hands, because really, does Tony actually expect you to articulate your feelings here?

"Uh-uh. Seriously, cat, you can't function on caffeine and sugar alone. Never mind that you shouldn't be having them at all when recording. Bad for your voice."

You think it's time he stop talking, so you walk over to where he's lounging and straddle his lap, knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs, keeping your weight off him for now.

Tony stares. "Man, what are you doing?"

"It's the first day of recording," you say because it explains everything.

Tony frowns with confusion, "Sorry, what?"

"Remember when we were recording for the MMC CD? And the first night, you told me about bands that 'baptize' studios on the first night by having sex there as good-luck for the album?"

Tony looks blank, then mildly embarrassed. "Uh... JC? You do know that it's not true, right? I mean, I just really wanted to get into your pants. It's not real. Not as far as I know."

You pretend to look horrified and scandalized and, judging from Tony's reaction, you're not a bad actor. "Wait. You mean to tell me that all those tricks I had to resort to in order to 'sanctify' my albums have all been unnecessary? I've been paying a shrink two hundred dollars an hour twice a week for the past 10 years to help me resolve my issues where there shouldn't have been any in the first place?"

"C, man, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd take me seriously. I didn't mean to fuck you up, man. I'm so sorry." And he looks it, too, so you roll your eyes at him.

"Hey man, I'm just fucking around with you. Of course I know it's not true. Oldest line in the book and all that. But it's a system that works, and you don't fuck with that, man, you just don't." And with that, you lower yourself onto his lap. "So. You gonna play hard to get, or are we getting to the sexin' up part now?"

Tony grasps your hips and grins, "I suppose you _do_ owe me from ten years ago."

You grind onto him. "And _you_ owe me for lying."

You kiss and grind for a while, hands in each other's pants. Eventually, you get up to grab the supplies from one of the secret drawers (because you never know where the mood will strike, and you like being ready for it), and take your pants off. When you come back, you undo Tony's fly, roll a condom on him, slick him up, and straddle him again, only this time screwing yourself slowly onto his cock. You fuck slow and shallow and then hard and fast, and you won't be able to sit comfortably for a few days but that's okay because you really do owe Tony for cock-teasing from ten years back.

When you've finished, you move things upstairs to your soft, nice bed, where you indulge some more. In the morning, you wake him up with a blowjob. You swallow when he comes, lapping delicately at the head as you clean him up and quipping, "Silky like a Milky Way." You digest the phrase and freeze like a deer in headlights, scrambling for pen and notepad a second later. "Oh oh! Song lyric!" you throw at Tony when he scoots back against the headboard to avoid being smacked by your flailing limbs.

You quickly jot your thoughts down, then dive back under the covers.

"This could have been really awkward, you know," Tony remarks, shifting until you're lying on your backs, shoulder to shoulder, heads tilted toward each other and touching.

"Oh yeah. Like, you pick up the date for the night, and you don't know what to do with them in the morning? And you want to be polite about kicking them out, but you also feel sad because there's, like, no connection there? You vibe all sexy the night before, but the next morning, it's just a disaster."

Tony lifts the hand closest to you and casually slides it into your lap, curling tightly around your erection. Finally. His hand creates delicious friction, hot and tight around you.

Tony smiles, then hums as he squeezes, "Hmmm mmm, it's the morning after, did I fall in love or did I find disaster?"

"Oooh," you gasp, because the double attack of the hand and lyrics is totally unfair. "We're writing a song?"

Tony removes his hand, lewdly licking his palm clean, and pushes you away from him, lifting back the covers and getting up, unselfconscious in his nudity. "We're writing a song. Get your gorgeous ass out of bed, Chasez."

"Bbbbut—" you whine, because he got off and you haven't yet, and he's being all sexy with the licking, and it's getting kind of ... urgent. Tony turns and leans over you. Catching your eye, he smiles, then moves lower to slurp-suck teasingly, prompting a groan, a moan, and a few of Lance's curse words that you promised to never say aloud. Because really. It's not nice to tease this way.

"We write a song, then we come back to bed, and I'll make good on all the teasing," Tony says in a low voice that reverberates sexily through the skin of your belly. Yeah, okay. Fine.

Tony stays for a few days and by the end, you are certain you can't even stand, let alone walk. Every muscle hurts and hums, and you are unsure if it's pleasure or pain. Tony goes home, but keeps coming back, first calling to ask if it's a good time, then dropping by unannounced. It sort of feels like a relationship except that it's not, because you aren't talking about it, just having sex once in a while. Fairly frequently actually, but you try not to think about that, either.

Instead, you think about this album, and how incredible it is going to be. Not only are you doing what you want to be doing, and improving yourself as a human being and an artist, but you also keep christening the recording process over and over again. With one of your best friends. That should count for something, you think; the music gods have to be paying attention to that. You were with Lance when recording NSA and that turned out really well.

In bed one night, after a particularly vigorous round of lovemaking that leaves you blissed out and your body strumming with energy and contentment, you turn sideways to face Tony and, taking a deep breath, you tell him, "Stay."

"Yeah, C. I'm not going anywhere. Too tired, too sleepy." He yawns and closes his eyes.

"No. Tony. I mean. _Stay_. Okay?"

He opens his eyes, and you spend a few moments just staring at each other, eyes searching for something in the other's faces. Then Tony leans over and kisses you softly, gently, lips barely touching.

"Oh babe. Yes. Yes, okay."

You snuggle up to him, curling your arms around his waist, and fall asleep thinking, "Ten years. Fucking incredible."

 **Soundtrack / Chapter Titles:**

1\. More Than Words – Tony and JC, Live on MMC  
2\. Lost Angeleno – Tony Lucca  
3\. I Want You Back – 'N Sync  
4\. I Drive Myself Crazy – 'N Sync  
5\. Kiss Me At Midnight – 'N Sync  
6\. No Strings Attached - *Nsync  
7\. The Two of Us - *Nsync  
8\. Blowin' Me Up (With Her Love) – JC Chasez  
9\. Somnambulist – BT feat. JC Chasez  
10\. Right Here (By Your Side) – JC Chasez


End file.
